The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
We sailed for a night and a day, the burning sun unrelenting overhead as the heat sapped every ounce of moisture. This is said to be a difficult journey for even the most seasoned of mariners and the nature of our departure left us little time to prepare. It didn’t take long for our water skins to run dry and the sun burned away whatever energy we had left.
In the distance, salvation appeared on the horizon. A small island loomed into view, palm trees surrounding its coastline. If we could find a river or any signs of civilisation, we would find water.
Shade adjusted course and we circumnavigated the island hoping to see any sign of habitation but were just met with cliff and beach for several miles. Yet every now and then, through gaps in the tree line, we could see what looked like a stone structure that jutted high into the air. The island itself was crescent shaped, with golden sandy beaches covering most of the coastline punctuated by rocky outcroppings here and there.
By that point, anything was better than spending another hour on that sun-bleached deck. So the ship dropped anchor and we rowed towards the shore, the stone structure disappearing from view as we drew closer. Night fell as we hacked our way through dense tropical forest. A combination of exhaustion and the difficult terrain turned the journey into what felt like a marathon. And then, as abruptly as the jungle started, it stopped. Ahead of us stretched several hundred yards of marshland which ended at yet more trees. Something was different here though, the trees on the other side were laid out in a more deliberate pattern and behind them loomed the structure. It was a ziggurat of carved stone that stood several hundred feet high, the stones themselves reaching up to my waist.
As I dimmed my light spell and focused towards the distance, I could just make out movement behind the neatly planted trees. At first they were easy to miss, their brown skin blending into the mud and stone but their presence was hard to ignore. Huge clay men were gathered around the ziggurat, all performing various automated acts of construction. Some were gathering the stone and mud and compressing together, some were hewing these masses into rectangular blocks and yet more would collect these blocks and crush them down into clumps of stone and grit. The rest served as a conveyor line, transporting the blocks to the various stations for processing. It was if they had been given the task of assembling this structure and no one had ever given instruction to stop.
Beyond their routine, the constructs were largely oblivious to our presence as we made way through the construction to the building at the centre. As far as ancient structures go it was reasonably basic. It had four triangular faces which all came together in a point at the very top and at one of the points along the base you could see a large stone doorway that cut into the shape. The stone that made up the outer layer was covered in runic script in a language beyond my understanding but had the familiar markings of the Ankivari.
In the distance, salvation appeared on the horizon. A small island loomed into view, palm trees surrounding its coastline. If we could find a river or any signs of civilisation, we would find water.
Shade adjusted course and we circumnavigated the island hoping to see any sign of habitation but were just met with cliff and beach for several miles. Yet every now and then, through gaps in the tree line, we could see what looked like a stone structure that jutted high into the air. The island itself was crescent shaped, with golden sandy beaches covering most of the coastline punctuated by rocky outcroppings here and there.
By that point, anything was better than spending another hour on that sun-bleached deck. So the ship dropped anchor and we rowed towards the shore, the stone structure disappearing from view as we drew closer. Night fell as we hacked our way through dense tropical forest. A combination of exhaustion and the difficult terrain turned the journey into what felt like a marathon. And then, as abruptly as the jungle started, it stopped. Ahead of us stretched several hundred yards of marshland which ended at yet more trees. Something was different here though, the trees on the other side were laid out in a more deliberate pattern and behind them loomed the structure. It was a ziggurat of carved stone that stood several hundred feet high, the stones themselves reaching up to my waist.
As I dimmed my light spell and focused towards the distance, I could just make out movement behind the neatly planted trees. At first they were easy to miss, their brown skin blending into the mud and stone but their presence was hard to ignore. Huge clay men were gathered around the ziggurat, all performing various automated acts of construction. Some were gathering the stone and mud and compressing together, some were hewing these masses into rectangular blocks and yet more would collect these blocks and crush them down into clumps of stone and grit. The rest served as a conveyor line, transporting the blocks to the various stations for processing. It was if they had been given the task of assembling this structure and no one had ever given instruction to stop.
Beyond their routine, the constructs were largely oblivious to our presence as we made way through the construction to the building at the centre. As far as ancient structures go it was reasonably basic. It had four triangular faces which all came together in a point at the very top and at one of the points along the base you could see a large stone doorway that cut into the shape. The stone that made up the outer layer was covered in runic script in a language beyond my understanding but had the familiar markings of the Ankivari.
No comments:
Post a Comment